


Heatstroke

by pengiesama



Category: Rise of the Guardians (2012)
Genre: Doctor/Patient, Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Serious Injuries
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-09
Updated: 2013-02-09
Packaged: 2017-11-28 16:00:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,386
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/676241
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pengiesama/pseuds/pengiesama
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A romantic summer night at Jamie's turns into a visit to the trauma ward when Jack has a violent run-in with a hotheaded newbie spirit. Cue one panicked twenty-year-old trying and failing to apply correct first aid to a semi-corporeal being, and getting laid for his valiant efforts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Heatstroke

Days ticked by in the lonely monotony of summer break. Yes, it was wonderful to be free from college, certainly. Wonderful to be home in Burgess, of course. Wonderful to see his family, he guessed. (Ah, to see the new and exciting ways that Sophie had made her overall person resemble an Easter egg. Fashion and makeup were truly dangerous tools in the hands of a teenage girl whose best friend was a giant rabbit.)

The main issue lay with its sorry few visits by Jamie’s boyfriend and personal air conditioning unit.

_Boyfriend_. The word sounded so immature. Was there something better in the language; something better to describe the person that walked beside him on winter afternoons, the person that flew up to his fifth-story lecture hall window on Thursdays to leave him notes written in ice breathed onto the glass? (Jamie always, always got to class early to grab that window seat.) He supposed it would have to do, for now. “Partner” sounded like they were part of a law firm, and Jamie was pretty sure that you couldn’t use the word “lover” unless you were in a romance novel from the Seventies.

He would bring up the topic to Jack, but Jack would probably just suggest some ridiculous made-up appellation like “my lil’ snee-snaw”, try to convince (hand-to-heart, in mock offense) Jamie that it was an ancient and sacred Guardian phrase, and when Jamie was done laughing until his sides hurt Jack would crack that _smile_ , and lean in, and…

…okay, that was another reason why Jamie didn’t like the lack of visits over summer break. He was horny as fucking hell and had gone near-on a month and a half without so much as a glimpse of Jack. Jack was busy with winter in the Southern Hemisphere, Jamie knew that. And Burgess itself was in the middle of a heatwave – Jack had visited during one of those before, and it was not a pretty sight.

…well, in actuality, it was a _very_ pretty sight: Jack, panting slow and wet, peeling off his damp hoodie. Dropping it to the floor behind him, and shimmying out of his pants. Sprawling his long, slim limbs onto Jamie’s bed; his bare skin luminous pale against the dark sheets.

Then he’d proceeded to whine and bleat like a dying goat for the rest of the night about the heat. Jamie was honestly shocked that he could ever be convinced to not fuck the brains out of a naked Jack Frost in his bed, but the world was full of strange and confusing mysteries.

Tonight, though, there was some hope. He’d found out early that week that his parents were going out of town for the weekend. Sophie, dear Sophie, little pastel mess, was sleeping over at a friend’s. He immediately set his plan into motion. As for getting the message to Jack, well, the Sandman was a delivery-person by trade – he was always happy to send messages from Jamie and Sophie to their friends at the far corners of the globe. Half-asleep, Jamie had watched the golden carrier pigeon flit through his window to collect the note in its tiny beak. The next night, the very next night, that very same golden bird returned to deposit a note on his nightstand. Jamie shook off sleep to eagerly open the paper. His heart gave a tiny thrill of delight at the sight of Jack’s untidy scrawl.

_It’s a date._

He’d responded so quickly. The thought of Jack wanting him just as bad was enough to wring a deep, shuddering sigh from Jamie’s lungs. His hand drifted down to the hem of his boxers.

He was too preoccupied to sleep for a while after that.

God, the weekend couldn’t come soon enough.

Friday night arrived. Sophie was successfully deposited at her friend’s house, and Jamie set himself to making his room as romantic as any twenty-year-old boy knew how – that is, taking his dirty dishes to the kitchen and cramming the worst of the laundry into the closet. It wasn’t as though Jack especially cared about cleanliness, but getting one’s foot stabbed with a stray fork could really take the wind out of one’s sails.

His preparations complete, Jamie checked himself over in his mirror. Comfy-looking t-shirt? Check. Those new boxers with snowflakes all over them that he’d been dying to show Jack? Check. Hair? …as good as it would ever be. Jamie ran a hand through it to try and futilely smooth it out, then focused on trying to settle himself on the bed with a book in the most attractively casual pose possible.

The hour grew late. Late even for Jack, who no one could call especially punctual. Worry gnawed at Jamie’s gut. Scuffles between Pitch and the Guardians had been sparse these past years; Jamie thought that maybe they’d finally lain down a truce. But if not Pitch, then…

Jamie shook his head and rolled to his feet. He was jumping to conclusions, he thought to himself as he navigated downstairs to check the thermostat for the thirtieth time that evening; making sure its cooling capabilities remained robust. Jack must’ve just hit whatever the wind current equivalent of rush hour traffic was. He bet that once he got back upstairs, he’d find his window open, and Jack standing there, wiping the summer sweat off his forehead, and waiting to be pulled into Jamie’s arms.

He opened his bedroom door, and found he was correct on a few counts.

One, his window was open. Two, Jack was there.

“J…Jamie, I’m…”

Jack convulsed, and hacked a mouthful of blood into his hand. He lost his grip on his staff, and with that, his tenuous balance; tumbling to his knees and the floor after.

Three, he was indeed waiting to be pulled into Jamie’s arms.

Why, why, why did pick such a useless major? Jamie cursed himself over and over as he tried to turn Jack onto his back as gently as possible. Graphic design couldn’t do shit when your best friend of ten years was bleeding out on your bedroom floor. He stripped off his t-shirt and used it to wipe the worst of the blood off Jack’s face.

“…sorry…sorry…”

“Jack, please,” Jamie begged. Please? Please, what? He was stiff with fear and panic, and could hear nothing save for the loud rush of blood in his ears, and Jack’s shallow, labored breathing.

Jamie tried to take stock of Jack’s injuries. The cuts on his face were shallow but numerous, like long papercuts. The blood had matted the hair on one side of his head flat.  His hoodie was dark with sweat and stuck red and soaking to his right side. The palms of his hands were swollen with ferocious burns, and slick with blood from clutching at his stomach. Jack raised one shaking hand to feebly grasp at Jamie’s wrist.

“…fine, I’ll be fine, just…place to lie down…”

He’d be “fine”. The urge to add a punched jaw to the list of Jack’s wounds flared, then died just as quickly when Jack made a strangled noise and clutched at his side again. Slowly, carefully, Jamie lifted up the bottom of Jack’s hoodie to gauge the severity of the injury. He nearly retched at the sight.

Yes, 911 emergency, please come quick, you can’t see or touch him, but he’s lying on the floor there, and I love him more than anything in the world.

Jamie was in so, so far over his head.

He took a deep, shuddering, steadying breath, and moved to cup Jack’s face in his hands. Jack’s eyes struggled to focus on him as he spoke.

“There’s first aid stuff in the bathroom. Do you think you can make it?”

A smile struggled to Jack’s mouth. “…sure thing…I’m fine, like I said…”

 Jamie really was going to punch him if he kept saying that he was fine. It was better than giving in to the other urge he was feeling, which was to scream and cry uncontrollably. As gently as possible, Jamie began to help Jack up. The moment that Jack put weight on his feet, he gave a horrible shout of pain, and collapsed again in a heap. It was then that Jamie saw the set of burns on the soles of his feet; matching the burns on his hands. Sick with terror, sick with himself for trying to make Jack walk, Jamie helped Jack lie down flat again. He couldn’t carry him for fear of making that terrible wound in his side worse. Getting Jack to the bathroom was out, and though Jamie could barely stand the thought of leaving him alone for even a moment in this state, supplies were needed.

“I’m going to get stuff from the bathroom. I’ll be _right_ back.”

At that, Jack could only give a tiny nod, his eyes fluttering shut. Jamie scrambled up, bashing into his dresser as he raced out of the room and down the hall to the bathroom. He flung open the medicine cabinet and rattled through the bottles and boxes for anything that looked like it would help. Antibiotic ointment, peroxide, burn cream, linen bandages, band-aids (sure, just in case Jack had a scraped knee somewhere on the list), the leftover codeine from his father’s dental surgery. He grabbed some towels and shoved them under the bathtub faucet, soaking them in cold water. Gathering the whole soaking, rattling mess of supplies into his arms, he hurried back to his bedroom.

While he was gone, Jack had somehow managed to drag himself into a sitting position to lean against the wall. Even when his guts were nearly spilling onto the floor, Jack refused to sit still – Jamie supposed that was a good sign. Jamie knelt beside him, set down the supplies, and began to wash the blood from Jack’s face with a sopping wet towel. Jack gave a contented sigh. Perhaps it was just wishful thinking, but Jamie could swear that the cuts were already growing fainter.

Jamie swallowed, and steeled himself. The stomach wound needed tending most of all, and Jamie wasn’t going to let his own squeamishness take Jack’s life. He popped two codeine pills out of the packaging, and fed them to Jack, rubbing at his throat to help him swallow. Would pain medication even work on a semi-corporeal spirit being? God, but did he hope they would. He lifted up the bottom of Jack’s sweatshirt, resolute.

…huh. Either he’d only imagined seeing Jack’s innards earlier, or something was up. The wound was still a fearsome sight to see, but as Jamie washed the blood from Jack’s skin with another towel, it appeared to be clotting and closing at an inhumanly fast rate.

Inhumanly fast, for an inhuman human, of course. Jamie heard Jack laugh, weakly.

“Told you I just needed to lie down for a second,” Jack said, his voice still hoarse. “The spirit gig has its perks.”

Well, didn’t Jamie feel stupid. And overdramatic. And…so, so relieved. He buried his face in Jack’s neck and, still mindful of his injuries, held him as tightly as he could. Jack’s hand slowly came to rest on Jamie’s back, rubbing in slow, soothing circles, and suddenly, it was like Jamie was ten years old again and crying on Jack’s shoulder after a particularly hard wipeout on the skating pond. _It’s alright, Jamie. Once you’re ready, we’ll go back out there. You steer, I push, and we’ll be skating circles around all the rest of them._

Someday, he’d learn to be a shoulder for Jack, too.

“This hospital’s got great service, though,” Jack said, eyes wandering down Jamie’s bare chest, and stopping at his snowflake boxers. “Nice undies, Doctor No Shirt.”

Jamie laughed a little too hard at that, still overwhelmed. Jack wiped away the dampness from Jamie’s eyes and cheeks with the sleeve of his scorched, bloodstained, tattered, and essentially completely ruined hoodie. It did not appear to have the same super healing abilities that its owner did, and Jamie knew that Jack would sorely mourn its loss. He’d give him one of his old ones, and Sophie could maybe be convinced to make a memorial pillow or something out of the combat casualty.

Speaking of combat…

“What _happened?_ ” Jamie asked.

Jack couldn’t quite meet Jamie’s eyes. “Just a little scuffle. It was nothing.”

He winced at the sharpness of Jamie’s glare, and Jamie did not feel even a little bit bad. Doctor No Shirt was a serious medical practitioner, and asked serious questions, and expected serious answers from his patients.

“Okay, okay. More than a little scuffle. Ran into a hotheaded newbie on my way here. Called himself the spirit of summer; couldn’t be more than a year or two old, I’ve never seen him before.”

“ _And?_ ”

“ _And_ , he started getting all worked up that I was here to ruin his work, and that I need to stay on my side of the hemisphere, blah blah ruin his reputation blah blah Blizzard of ’68. Guess I wasn’t taking him seriously enough for his liking, ‘cause he flipped his lid and caught me off guard.”

If this sort of thing was really no big deal, and that common, among spirits, Jamie was really very tempted to stuff Jack into a closet and never let him out again, snow days be damned.

“…if you think I’m bad, you should see the other guy?” Jack finished, lamely.

A part of Jamie really did hope that Jack had beaten the other spirit into an unrecognizable pulp, since it saved him the trouble of having to figure out how to do so himself. That aside…

“Is he going to pull this every time you come to visit me out of season?” Jamie asked, getting more agitated. “It being July doesn’t mean that you should be – should be fucking _exiled_ from your own hometown - ”

Jack squeezed his hand, trying to calm him. “Jamie, calm down, he’s just new at the gig and territorial; all of us were like that, once. Some of us still are, I mean, you’ve seen me and Bunny go at it before - ”

“Bunny’s never tried to _gut_ you.”

“Yet.”

“ _Jack._ ”

“Fine, geez.” Jack arranged himself a little more comfortably, still noticeably wincing as he did so.” What do you want me to do, rub his face in magic snow until he lightens up?”

Jamie thought for a moment. “…I don’t want him anywhere near you until he gets his head screwed on straight. Ask one of the other Guardians to mediate for you, sort out some kind of ceasefire.”

The look Jack gave him would have struck fear into the heart of a lesser man, but not Doctor No Shirt, M.D.. He stood his ground.

“I mean it.” Neither a seven-foot-tall rabbit nor an angry Russian grandpa would be the best choice for peaceful ambassadors. Tooth had the unfortunate tendency to resemble a horde of hungry locusts when incensed. Sandy, though…Sandy seemed to be well-liked, respected. He was the oldest of all, and even the non-Guardian spirits that Jamie had had the chance to meet over the years spoke of him fondly. And, when necessary, he was armed and ready to lay down some hurt.

“Sandy. We’ll leave a note for one of his carrier pigeons tonight.”

Jack sighed explosively. “Sandy’s a busy man; I can’t ask that of him. Besides, I can handle this little punk on my own, once I’m prepared for him - ”

“Then I’ll ask it of him. And I’m asking _this_ of you.” Jamie took both of Jack’s hands in his, rubbing his thumb over the knuckles. He waited for Jack to look him in the eye. “Please.”

Jack held his gaze for a long minute, and then sighed again, resting his forehead against Jamie’s. “You’ve got an unfair advantage in arguments when you’re half-naked.”

Jamie’s heart lightened, just a little. “You’ll work with Sandy? Promise?”

“Promise. Little Mister Sunshine is gonna be hurting for a few days after our run-in, so I should be fine to fly south for the season once I’ve rested up here a little.” Jack quirked an eyebrow, and gave a little grin. “Unless the doctor wants to discharge me early.”

He did not, and could no longer summon up the ability to think in terms of Doctor No Shirt and Foxy Patient – tonight, he just wanted to be Jamie and Jack, safe and tangled in their nest of blankets. Jamie moved to cup Jack’s face in his hands, and closed the distance between their lips.

Jack had always been the most gorgeous person Jamie had ever laid eyes on – when he’d appeared in his room that night, ten years ago, Jamie was pretty sure his jaw had made a dent in the floor. Being covered in blood and fading scars did little to dull his appeal. Increased it, even, in some respects. And it had been a long, long summer. Jamie pressed himself close to Jack, torso to torso. Then there was a sudden stiffness in Jack’s muscles, a slight hiss of pain; Jamie pulled back, abashed.

“Sorry. You need to rest.”

Jack laid his head on Jamie’s shoulder, pressing a kiss to his neck in a cool puff of breath. Jamie tried to suppress his reflexive shiver. Instead, the shiver seemed to transfer to Jack – and all of a sudden, he was very, very heavy. Jack let out a high-pitched, loopy laugh.

“Wow. Whatever you crammed in my mouth just kicked in. Wow. Woooooooow.”

Noted: codeine did, in fact, work on spirits. Love burning in his chest, Jamie scooped up the drugged-up laughing mess, and deposited him on the bed. Jack was pliant, if a bit grabby (and mouthy, he added, as Jack tried unsuccessfully to grab and nip Jamie’s fingers), and Jamie was thus able to strip him out of his ruined clothes, and wash and bandage the worst of the remaining injuries. By the time he finished, Jack appeared to have fallen to one of the other side effects of codeine – that is, drowsiness. Jamie crawled under the sheets next to him (the note to Sandy sitting neatly on the nightstand), content, for the moment. Satisfied that Jack looked to be sleeping comfortably, Jamie allowed himself to drift.

A shush of wings of golden sand heralded the arrival of Sandy’s delivery bird. A thought drifted unbidden to Jamie’s mind as he slipped into sleep:

Boy, was he glad his mother wouldn’t be able to see the blood he’d gotten all over the towels.

\--

It was a while before Jack woke up that morning, and it was obvious he needed the rest. In the meantime, Jamie set to cleaning up the mess from the night before. It wasn’t the mess he’d hoped for earlier that evening – there were discarded clothes, sure, but also bloodstains on the walls and carpet, and medical supplies scattered across the floor. A search online turned up some good home remedies that got most of the mess out, and Jamie threw the towels (Jack’s hoodie, to see if he could try to save the thing) into the wash. While the washing machine hummed and Jack snoozed, Jamie poked around on his favorite paranormal forums for good tips on taking revenge on fire spirits. Salt seemed to be the base ingredient in a lot of methods. It had some merit, Jamie supposed. Jack wasn’t too keen on really salty stuff, but maybe that was an ice thing…

Jack curled against his side, reaching out a hand to close the lid of Jamie’s laptop. Those sleepy blue eyes set Jamie’s heart stuttering, still, after all these years.

“How are you feeling?” Jamie asked, softly.

Jack’s tongue lolled out the side of his mouth. “Bleh,” he said, expressively.

 “Need some more meds?” Jamie tugged down the sheets to check the bandages on Jack’s stomach.

“Nah,” Jack said. “I wanna stay conscious for this part.”

Jamie slanted a look up at Jack. Jack waggled his eyebrows back.

Jack seemed to be convalescing well, Jamie’s body told him, helpfully. And Jack was also very, very naked under that sheet, Jamie’s body continued on, louder. The minor cuts and burns had already faded completely from his skin, which was back to its soft, unblemished pale. Jamie smoothed a cautious hand across the linen wrapping Jack’s belly.

“Your stomach?” Jamie asked.

Jack untied the bandages. The sight of the smooth flesh lifted a weight from Jamie’s soul.

“Magic spirit healing mojo. Plus a good night’s sleep, in a comfy bed, under the watchful eye of Doctor Bennett.”

Jamie let himself be pulled up to Jack’s mouth. “Thought I was Doctor No Shirt.”

Jack’s hands skimmed down Jamie’s sides, around to his back. Then, to his boxers, shoving them down.

“Doctor Buck-Ass Naked takes too long to say,” Jack murmured against Jamie’s lips. He pressed his body up against Jamie’s, his interest blunt and obvious against Jamie’s thigh. “It’s your turn to be on your back, doc.”

Jamie let himself be flipped and straddled by Jack, and let out a too-loud groan when Jack immediately, eagerly took him in hand to stroke. Too long. Too long since he’d seen Jack over him, eyes dark and lidded, mouth quirked and teeth bared in a cocky little grin. He had to know how good he looked, what he did to him. Jack’s pale legs tangled with the dark sheets; in the dim light filtering through the curtains and blinds, they seemed to disappear completely where the darkness touched them. Chiaroscuro, the term in art was, and Jack was nothing if not.

Jamie’s hand slid up Jack’s inner thigh, relishing in the smooth skin, the movement of muscle. He pressed his hand against the join of hip, against the budding warmth there. Jack was normally cool to the touch, certainly, but all he needed was a bit of coaxing, and…

“You’re killing me, Jams,” Jack moaned, low and breathy. He grabbed Jamie’s wrist and guided it to his cock.

There’d been enough death for one night, and Jamie was happy to oblige regardless. His other hand slid across Jack’s cheek, and into his hair. He gave a little tug at the strands when Jack turned his head to nip at Jamie’s wrist, and oh, if Jamie didn’t nearly come on the spot at that purr. Jack dipped his head low, and down, and oh. _Oh._ Jamie’s hand tightened in his hair.

Jack looked up at him with expectant eyes. “Mff?” he asked, conversationally, and altogether too casual for someone with a cock stuffed in their mouth.

Jamie whined out a long breath. “God, Jack, _please_.”

Jack’s eyes smiled, seemingly satisfied enough with the response to set to work. His tongue swept eagerly over the head, down the length of it – soon, once he was good and slick, he took him in deep, letting Jamie fuck his throat, moaning as if he loved it. Jamie loved to suck Jack off, too – the slow-burning weight of him on his tongue, and he tasted so fucking amazing when he came – so maybe the feeling was mutual.

Fuck. “ _Jack,_ ” Jamie groaned, his hand tugging at the hair at the back of Jack’s head. “Stop. Gonna come.”

Jack pulled off with a loud slurp. Jamie’s cock throbbed mournfully at the loss. He was granted a long, sloppy kiss while Jack fumbled, blindly, in the nightstand drawer. Finally, he found the tiny tube, and sat back on his heels to let Jamie get a good view of what was next. He squeezed the colorless, viscous gel onto his fingers, and reached behind to finger himself open. His head lolled to the side, and breathed a sigh, effortlessly capturing Jamie’s gaze with his.

Jack had always been a showoff, ever since Jamie first met him – he could hazard a guess that it was because he’d gone unnoticed for so long. The tendencies extended to all areas of life, not at least the bedroom. Jamie’s hands smoothed up Jack’s thighs, and around to cup his ass. Jack bit at his lip to suppress his grin when Jamie gave an appreciative squeeze.

“Getting your check-up exam in,” Jamie mumbled. Were they still playing doctor? He had no idea, and the way Jack’s fingers moved in his ass made it very hard to think.

“Oh?” Jack breathed. He pulled his fingers out, and seized the gel again to get more for Jamie’s cock. “Think I’ve heard people talk about this part of the exam over the years…tell me what you think, Doctor Bennett.”

Jack slid himself down. The issue was that Jamie couldn’t think, not when he was buried deep, not when he was pinned and mounted and Jack was rolling his hips, fucking himself on Jamie’s cock. He was a poor excuse for a doctor, but could at least make up for it by being a good lay. Jamie grabbed Jack’s hips, hands molding to the bone, and jerked up, hard.

“ _Fuck - ”_ Jack’s hand slammed down next to Jamie’s head, mouth falling open as Jamie held him in place, ramming his ass. Shuddering, he stroked himself off, fast and harsh. “Fuck, Jamie, I’m gonna - ”

Jack’s muscles stiffened all at once, and he gave an almost shocked yell. Jamie couldn’t take much time to be proud of poking a hole in Jack’s exhibitionist air balloon; he managed only a few more shaky, uneven thrusts before coming inside him.

It was a long, slow time before either had the breath or energy to speak.

“…are we still playing up the doctor thing?” asked Jamie, hoarsely.

Jack yawned, and rolled off Jamie to claim a pillow to stuff his face in. “Dunno. I need another nap, though. Coming back from the brink of death and then getting nailed takes it out of a guy.”

Jaime rolled to throw an arm over him, yawning himself.  “And you need a shower.”

Jack lifted his head to scowl sleepily at him. Jamie kissed his forehead, and tugged his head back down, tucking it under his chin. He rested his cheek against his hair, content.

“I’m gonna take the coldest shower your pipes will give, and drag you in with me,” Jack groused, half-inaudible.

Jamie wasn’t going to complain. This heatwave had its perks.


End file.
